Il Linguaggio dei Fiori
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: Dino should probably be more worried about the flowers that keep appearing at his bedside, but even the mysterious notes can't erase his curiosity. Then come the dreams. 69D


Haiyo! Uh, SO not sure about this one. I dunno. These KHRfest prompts are killing me. lol! Do I need to write more smut? 'Coz I think I suck at this normal romance thing. Yea, pretty sure. ~ Ah, flower meanings are at the bottom.

**Prompt: **TYL!Mukuro/TYL!Dino – compulsion; "chase you down until you love me" (from KHRfest)

**Il Linguaggio dei Fiori**

Flowers weren't a rare thing for the Cavallone family to receive. Dino was certain to never neglect their hometown and it often earned the gratitude of the residents when they ran off troublemakers. Though they were mafia, with Dino as _don_ they had followed the Cavallone tradition: protection of the weak and of justice.

As such, he'd spent some time learning the meanings behind the flowers. It was touching to find all the hidden messages in the bouquets, whether they were made of one flower or many. And he'd found the subject interesting. While Dino wasn't quite confident enough to let his family know that he was studying the language of flowers, he managed to sneak a couple of books into his room and hide them behind others in the bookshelf. It was light reading when he wanted to get his mind off of the grittier side of mafia business, as he often did.

That was why, when he walked into his room to find a vase of bright agapanthus waiting on his nightstand, he paused and stared. They were a delicately dark shade of blue, delicately shaped and full of blooms. The blonde walked over with a frown of puzzlement and looked around for a note, but there was none. They were beautiful flowers and he'd seen them in a couple of gardens around Italy but they weren't something to give as a thank you as far as he knew. Actually, he'd stuck a Post-It note in his book on the page for agapanthus because he figured he might want to use them sometime himself.

Agapanthus were love letters.

He shook his head and turned to poke his head out of the door. Romario was waiting outside as always, which made him smile despite his curiosity. "Hey, Romario," he said. The man looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you know who the flowers are from?"

Romario's brows drew together. "What flowers?"

That made Dino pause. He looked back into the room at the bouquet and then back at his man. "Didn't you bring in that?" He hiked his thumb at the vase.

He peered in and shook his head, looking confused. "No. Someone else must have. There's no note?"

"Nope." Dino turned and looked at it inscrutably for a moment before he shrugged. "Oh well. They're pretty enough. Thanks anyway, Romy!" The pointed close of the door behind him was the only objection to the nickname, and that made him chuckle. He knew the guy didn't mind nearly as much as he pretended to.

The next day, no one else knew, either. The agapanthus sat harmlessly on his nightstand because he hadn't bothered to move it, and though he'd never admit it aloud they gave off a nice scent that seemed to help his sleep. As for the mystery of the sender, it ought to reveal itself in time.

Despite his best efforts—a little sugar in the water, soft sunlight, and frequent checks of their health—the flowers began to wilt after a couple of days. He knew he'd probably have to throw them out in the morning, but that was how flowers worked. Their brevity was part of the beauty. And when he slept that night, he dreamed about flowers: Brilliantly blue flowers, stunning scarlet blooms, indigo leaves and winding stems that stretched breathtakingly. The colours contrasted so harshly that it was a dizzying combination, but that only deepened the beauty of them.

Their smells melded together into a single musky scent that stayed with him as he woke up.

Sunlight streaming through the window brought a worrying sight to his attention. Sitting on the nightstand were no longer the agapanthus; it was a new vase with new flowers. Peach blossoms just a little too red to be natural were mixed with blue orchids. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, the similarity confusing. Then he looked at the clock and sat up slowly, staring at the blooms.

Dino was a light sleeper, usually. Even with such a dream he should have known if someone had come in. Only Romario could sneak up on in him like that, and he knew the man wouldn't risk waking him for a new vase of flowers or take care to arrange them so neatly. Instinctually he reached out to see if there was a note attached, and this time his fingers met a small rectangle of paper. He freed it from the blossoms carefully and held it to the light to read it.

In impressive script was written the words: _Come domare un cavallo selvaggio._

A chill ran down his spine and he set it on the table with a shaking hand. How to tame a bucking horse. His eyes narrowed at the challenge and he stood, looking warily around the room while he went to get dressed. Romario needed to hear about this and he wanted to know who had brought the flowers this time. They seemed to be from the same person as the agapanthus; at least, he had that feeling.

When he checked, no one knew where the flowers had come from. So, while pondering idly on the subject, he got back to work and after a few days the sight of the bouquet on his nightstand no longer raised his ire. In fact, he kind of liked them, no matter how unsettling their colours and the manner of their appearance. The night before they would wilt, he dreamt.

The blooms this time were roses. They spiraled as high as he could see, wound together and around, a forest of petals and thorns, red and blue. He stood staring for a long time, unsure what to think.

It was something about the thorns that made his heart race.

_This is how you tame a bronco._ He didn't know why those words came to his mind. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice, but the flowers were too thick. When he looked up he did not see sky, only more flowers, intertwining and towering over him until he could not see the top. "Where am I?" he called, turning slowly. Nothing moved. Not a single petal shifted. When he reached out to touch, a thorn pricked him. When he pulled his thumb back there was a red stain on the indigo point; he sucked on his finger idly while he peered around, beginning to worry.

In some way he knew it was a dream, yet he did not, in the way that dreams do. A flower shivered beside him, warning him away from a thorn he was about to back into, and as he backed off he gave it a careful look. "Is there anyone here? What is this?"

His words didn't echo, but seemed to stretch for miles. He was walking slowly through the forest of roses, sight assaulted by the two colours that refused to be dimmed despite the little light. Curiously he lifted his sleeve to peer at his tattoos, but they were softened by the lack of illumination, so it was only the roses that glowed so brightly. What an odd dream.

"Hello?" This time he called in Japanese, knowing it would probably come to naught but figuring he had nothing to lose. "Is anyone there? Where is this?" For a moment, there was nothing; then a little chuckle seemed to shake every petal for a hundred kilometers. He froze, going white at the sound. Why was it so familiar? "Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?"

Then the dream ended.

Dino woke up and was greeted by sunlight pouring through his window. Though his dream had been odd, he wasn't sweating, for which he was grateful. And on his nightstand was a new vase. He laid on his side, cheek on the pillow for a long time, looking at it. Again it was red and blue. This time, it was azalea and lavender. More hidden meanings. More questions.

As if expecting something to snap at him, he gently took hold of the card that was held between two flowers and held it up to read.

_Papa Giordani's at 18:00._

Dino stared at it for a long time. Without his realizing it, his other hand had taken hold of the whip under his pillow, his thumb stroking the lithe cords as if seeking comfort in their strength. Who was this? He didn't know if he should go or send someone to see who would show up. An ambush? No, he couldn't think of that. One could stage an assassination far simpler than this so far.

When he left the room he didn't bother to ask who had delivered the flowers. He knew nobody would know about them and it was no use worrying Romario further.

Over the course of the day he'd made up his mind without realizing it. Romario objected when he asked to take a walk alone, but eventually he soothed the man's worries by promising to only go out for dinner and come right back. He just had some thinking to do. Mollified, Romario escorted him only to the edge of the Cavallone grounds and let him go the rest of the way alone.

Papa Giordani's was a quaint little diner he liked to visit on his off days. It was across from a school so he could watch the elementary kids playing on the jungle gym or practicing sports while he ate. It was nice to be reminded once in a while of the kind of thing he was working to protect when he fought to shield this town.

Today he did not look out the window. In fact, he did not even go in. Lying on the window sill below the vintage sign was a single flower. An attached ribbon held a note. When he stepped close and picked it up he found a begonia. It was blue and this time he was unsurprised. It was the flower itself, though, that bugged him. _Beware._

_RusAm #84752 Gate 6_

The note made a hole open in the pit of his stomach. Did that mean he was supposed to get on a plane? Or was it the person who was doing this, coming here? No, surely he was already here to be able to get those flowers to him. It bothered him. Walking quickly he returned home, startling Romario with his quick appearance but giving little time to apologize when he handed the man the note.

"I need to know everything I can about that flight," he said, his _don_ voice apparent. He was walking taller, his shoulders squared; his expression was focused and alert, his movements efficient and purposeful. When he acted like a _don_ he meant business, and so his men did, too.

He was waiting in the reading room, impatient, when Romario returned with papers a few minutes later. "I have the passenger list," he stated. "It's due to leave this evening and will arrive at noon tomorrow." Dino took the sheets with a nod of thanks and began thumbing through them. "Check page two, boss."

At his man's tone, he glanced up with a sinking feeling to see the serious expression on his face. With a frown he looked at the page and scanned through the names, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, until a quarter from the bottom he found it. _Those are Rogojin names._ Quickly he scanned through the rest of the list but found no more that caught his eye.

"Personal records," he said quickly.

Romario nodded. "I checked but the family has basically erased them all so I put in a call to the Vongole. Their information head told me he'd call back in ten minutes with what he could dig up."

Dino nodded, standing in frustration. "So that's all we have. Russian mafia is coming to our airport…unannounced." His jaw clenched. Idiots. Did they think the Cavallone wouldn't find out?

Well…they wouldn't have, if not for his mysterious admirer. That left him cold.

"May I ask where you got that note, boss?"

He winced. "A contact," he said automatically. The frown Romario gave him meant he knew there was something Dino wasn't saying but would accept it nonetheless. He hated to hurt the old man who'd done so much to help him over the years no matter what stupid mistakes he made, and he knew that keeping secrets did hurt him, but for now he needed to keep it quiet. Mysterious flowers and strange dreams did not bode well for a _don_ who was supposed to be undistracted.

The next day, the Cavallone were waiting for the Rogojino at the gate. They also caught a contact of the Russians' who had brought along some rather scary firearms to give to them once they left the airport. What happened to the contact, even Dino didn't like to remember. As for the mafia they were sent home with their tails between their legs and nice boot-shaped bruises on their asses. He made a mental note to start keeping an eye on that family because he had a bad feeling that wasn't just a little business transaction. They'd been there for something.

Like an assassination.

So why'd he get tipped off? That night there was no dream, and the next morning he awoke frustrated. His bouquet was beginning to wilt but he'd stuck the begonia into the vase as well and it seemed to be doing fine. Dino get through the day by ignoring the nagging questions and simply focusing on the family and its needs. It was a tasking job, and he loved it.

But then that night he did dream. And it was exactly the same as the last one.

He woke to a bouquet of scarlet peach blossom and navy agapanthus. It sent a shiver down his spine.

The card read: _Good job._ Oddly enough, it made him angry. Who was this, to know what was going on? Where did they get off on teasing him like this, violating the sanctity of the family base and his own bedroom? For the rest of the day he was in a bad mood.

That night he dreamt again. And he dreamt the same dream for the next several days.

A sense of calmness was pervading him while his heart thumped a rhythm he didn't know. He'd never heard the music but his feet did, and he danced to it as if it was a favorite. And for some reason he suspected it was. His partner was an inch taller than he and lithe, so graceful it put even him to shame, a lean arm wrapped about Dino's waist and the other hand clutching Dino's, their fingers intertwined. Their feet moved in a symbiotic rhythm, a feeling of safety that was so secure it was alien making him want to close his eyes, but he would not lose his look at the man before him. Their bodies touched as they whirled around and Dino never even saw where they were, nor did he care. All there was, was the subtle dance in his ears and the man in his eyes and the touch on his skin and the scent in his nose. He recognized the man but it felt right to be there with him.

And every morning he'd remember everything but his face. Long hair that shimmered and twirled with them, pale skin…but his face was only a blur. Each day Romario grew more worried by his distractedness, but each day he waved off the concern and tried to act like nothing was happening.

Then the dream changed. He was standing before the same man, but their bodies were apart and both were reaching forward to intertwine their fingers together. His eyes met the other man's, and the other man smiled. His smile was slow and subtle but it warmed him from head to toe like a warm breeze on a cold night, drawing a smile of reply and making his heart hammer. As if knowing this, he squeezed Dino's hands softly, their gaze never breaking.

"How long must I chase you?" he whispered. And they danced.

That morning he was not greeted by a vase of flowers. Actually, the vase was gone. On his pillow was a delicate red viscaria. There was no note but the message was the same nevertheless. _Dance with me._ It echoed through his mind, louder and louder until he had a headache. And with the music in his ears as clearly as in the dream, he danced to it, his eyes closed and his mind swept away. He did not stumble or fall; he did not lose his balance or hit his elbow on the wall or catch his hip on the corner of his desk.

Minutes later though it seemed to be hours he sat on the edge of the bed, holding the flower gently as though it might collapse into dust. He wanted to go back to sleep and keep dreaming, but he was too awake. No matter his desire he'd never be able to.

_How to tame a bucking horse._ This time the words did not upset him. Instead he smiled ruefully, looking at the flower. "Tame," he whispered, tasting the word on his tongue. Usually it would be an insult, but now he had to think about it. Tame. What did it mean? He couldn't be in love with a man from a dream. Who knew what was up with the flowers? But dear God, he was. His heart pounded at the very thought of his face. And this time he remembered. He remembered that face and he knew why that voice was so familiar.

And at the same time that it sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, it raised goosebumps along his arm. _I'll dance with you, Rokudou Mukuro,_ he thought silently. _Come and dance._

_Agapanthus_: love letters  
_Orchid_: love, beauty  
_Peach blossom_: I am your captive  
_Azalea_: Love, Romance, First love, Take care of yourself for me  
_Lavender_: devotion  
_Begonia_: beware  
_Viscaria_: Will you dance with me? 


End file.
